


Time Stands Still

by rangifertarandus



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Emissary in Training Stiles Stilinski, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Oblivious Stiles, Overuse of italics, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, Sort Of, Stiles Freezes Time, overuse of swear words, sorry about that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-02-19 16:57:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13127790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rangifertarandus/pseuds/rangifertarandus
Summary: By the time they've managed to find the book and read the right section, Derek's positive attitude has plummeted towards way below zero and Stiles's shit feeling has become more like a monumentally-huge-pile-of-shit kind of feeling.He groans hiding his face in his hands. It's impossible. He's never gonna be able to fix this mess.Deaton's frozen smirk staring back at him doesn't help at all to ease his anxiety. He looks even creepier like that. Stiles isn't sure how that's even possible.ORStiles freezes time, that's it. That's the fic.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StaciNadia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StaciNadia/gifts).



> For the lovely [**stacinadia**](http://stacinadia.tumblr.com)
> 
> So, I admittedly ran out of time, this is why there's just one chapter instead of a whole fic... BUT! I'm almost done with the second part so it will be up super soon I promise!
> 
> Hope you still enjoy and like your present!
> 
> Happy Holidays 
> 
> ;)

It happens while they're fighting. Of course it does. They're in the loft, back from the preserve after an eventful afternoon spent fighting a trio of hunters who had thought they were better than all the others that came before them.

Stiles is sporting an impressive bruise on his cheekbone and a busted lip, but, all in all, it could have been worse. He could have ended up like Derek, with a foot-long gash on his side and a wolfsbane bullet in his hip. 

Stiles is furious.

Derek shouldn't have been hit, he shouldn't even have been there at all. Derek was supposed to be backup, standing on the sidelines and acting only if Stiles was in need. It was supposed to be just a civil confrontation, some threatening words and incantations to scare the hunters away. But one of them had hit Stiles and, of course, instead of letting him, the pack emissary for fuck's sake, handle the situation, Derek had decided to intervene.

He jumped out, catching two hunters by surprise and knocking them out easily. The third one reacted quickly, though, shooting him before approaching and slashing his side with a wolfsbane coated blade. Luckily Argent and Scott appeared just in time, knocking the hunter out, quickly throwing the weapons at Stiles and shouting for him to run and take a now semi-unconscious Derek with him. 

Stiles was furious. 

He carried Derek back to his jeep and up to the loft, muttering swear words and commenting on whether a werewolf could ever be stupider. He could hear ragged breaths coming from Derek and the occasional groan at Stiles's insults. He swiftly laid him on the couch, tearing Derek's shirt open and working quickly to take out the bullet from the wound and burning the wolfsbane. 

Stiles hates that it’s always so easy for him to tend to Derek's wounds, the fact that he’s had so much practice with it that he is basically an expert makes him want to throw up. How many times is Derek going to endure that shit? 

"I hate this," Stiles whispers, sitting on the coffee table while Derek's breath evens out and his wounds stitch themselves up.

"If you hadn't been so adamant that you had to go there alone we wouldn't have had any problems."

And, really, _fuck off_.

“Fuck you, I had it under control. I was going to scare them off with a charm, but you didn't even give me the chance," Stiles shouts, outraged. 

"They attacked you, what did you expect I'd do? You were supposed to convince them to leave, not rile them up, but, of course, you had to put your foot in your mouth." 

Stiles turns towards Derek, he has sat up and Stiles chances a look at the wounds on his upper body to see them almost healed. He can't help the sigh of relief that escapes his lips before he registers Derek's words and a murderous glare flashes in his eyes.

"Fuck, Derek, I was doing my job. I'm the pack emissary, that's what I do. Besides, I can take care of myself. I don't need you to defend my virtue or something.” Stiles shouts, shutting his eyes in frustration and grabbing a pillow from the armchair. 

He squeezes it in his hands to release the pressure before he does something stupid, like punching a werewolf. 

"Yeah, I can see how well you take care of yourself." 

Derek's rolling his eyes and making a vague gesture to Stiles's face. His tone is mocking and Stiles hates it. He hates that even after all these years Derek can still make him feel like he's just a useless human in a pack of much more powerful beings. 

When he opens his eyes, Derek is standing next to the couch. He shouldn't stand. He should be lying down, he should be resting. His wounds are still there, glaring at Stiles. He bites his tongue to keep silent about it, he is still furious.

"Fuck you," he shouts. 

He throws the pillow at Derek in a fit of rage, before closing his eyes again, trying to keep his emotions at bay. He feels energy bubbling underneath his skin, a thrumming in his veins as his anger mounts. 

“Stiles you’re being a stubborn assho—” 

Stiles opens his eyes when Derek pauses, he can see that his eyes are wide and he’s staring at the pillow floating between them. Well, scratch that, it’s not even floating, that would imply some kind of movement, but no, it’s actually still, frozen mid-air, as if someone had taken a picture of it. 

Derek is staring at him, a shocked expression on his face.

“What did you do?” He asks. 

Stiles frowns.

“Why would you automatically assume it’s my fault?” He says, narrowing his eyes, unimpressed.

“Well, who’s the one with magic powers here?” Derek says matter-of-factly. 

And like, _fuck you, Derek._

“Well, I didn’t do anything so you can kindly fuck off and stop blaming me,” He says, swatting at the pillow as he walks to the window. 

He looks outside, down to the streets and, well, shit. They might have a problem.

“Derek!” He calls, motioning for Derek to come close as a surge of panic starts taking over him.

“What now?” 

Stiles can still hear the frustration in Derek’s tone as he approaches. He’s not sure what’s going on but Stiles knows it’s him. It must have been him. Him and his stupid spark that he still can't control. And if Derek doesn’t get there quick and reassures him that he’s going to be fine Stiles is going to have a panic attack. Like, for sure.

In retrospect, Stiles probably should have seen it coming. What with Alan-fucking-Deaton being the most cryptic and unhelpful asshole ever. There really was no chance for Stiles to avoid fucking up massively at some point.

He was training to become an emissary, or, rather, control his spark at least. But he had been training for months with scarce results, finding it hard to concentrate ( _gee thanks ADHD you’re being very helpful with that_ ) and he was growing impatient and Deaton was just confusing at best with his incomprehensible instructions that sounded like riddles more like anything. And, like, Stiles has reached his own riddle quota with the Nogitsune so, thanks, but no, thanks.

On top of that, Derek was being the usual annoying righteous asshole, making him feel small and useless. 

It must have been a reaction to it. It must have been that, for sure. But the problem, the fucking _problem_ , is that Stiles has no idea of how to fix it.

Stiles sees the moment that Derek realises what’s going on, the stiffness of his back and the way he tightens his fists. He can see the way he breathes through his nose and gulps as he takes in the sight of the unmoving world outside his window. Everything is frozen, people, cars, even _birds_ , they’re there, stuck in the sky like in some kind of hyper realistic painting. And, fuck, it's all because of Stiles. 

He doesn't know what to do. He feels guilt growing inside him and barely registers Derek turning towards him before shutting his eyes. Willing it to stop. Willing everything to go back to normal.

“Stiles.” 

Stiles hears Derek's voice like it's far away. He takes deep breaths, feels his head exploding as he tries to get some air into his lungs. Every breath seems useless as he suddenly feels his legs giving out and he’s crumbling to the floor. 

Great. A panic attack is just what they need.

“Stiles! Come on, breathe with me.” 

He hears Derek calling him and feels a hand grabbing his shoulders and keeping him up. There’s a thumb drawing circles on his left hip and he can feel Derek breathing close to his ear.

“Breathe, Stiles, slowly...like that, yeah.”

He concentrates on the sound of Derek’s voice and tries to sync his breathing to his, the hand on his shoulders is stroking gently up and down, soothingly. 

It takes Stiles a whole five minutes to calm down. Derek is rubbing his palm up and down his back and whispering encouragements in his ear and Stiles can't do anything but relax, leaning forward and letting his forehead rest on Derek's shoulder.

"Thanks," Stiles mutters once his pulse is finally steady. 

It takes him a moment to find the strength to push himself off of Derek and give up the safety of his arms. He turns towards the window and looks back down. His pulse speeds up minutely.

"It's fine," Derek says, his arms are still loosely around Stiles, ready to catch him.

Stiles can't take his eyes off of the scene outside, what if everything is stuck forever? What if he can't find a way to put things right? What if it takes him too long and then the damage is done?

"I don't know how to fix it." 

"I know you can," Derek mumbles, and Stiles is so concentrated on all the ' _what if's_ ' and self-loathe that he almost misses it. 

He turns to Derek, a questioning look on his face.

"What?"

"I know you can fix it. And– We can figure it out– I'm–" Derek clears his throat "I'll help you. We can go to Deaton's and see if there's anything in his books. Even if he's frozen we can still take a look at them."

Stiles nods, mumbling a small thank you and looking on as Derek just pats his shoulder briefly, before walking ahead towards the door. Stiles has a shit feeling about this.

•••

By the time they've managed to find the book and read the right section, Derek's positive attitude has plummeted towards way below zero and Stiles's shit feeling has become more like a monumentally-huge-pile-of-shit kind of feeling. 

He groans hiding his face in his hands. It's impossible. He's never gonna be able to fix this mess.

Deaton's frozen smirk staring back at him doesn't help at all to ease his anxiety. He looks even creepier like that. Stiles isn't sure how that's even possible.

"So, just a strong emotion? What kind of emotion? Do I just toss you around until you get mad again?" Derek asks. Stiles just shakes his head defeated.

"It's much more than that." 

"Then explain."

And yeah, Stiles would love to explain, but that might be a bit hard. 

He glances down at the spellbook, pretending to read while he actually tries to collect his thoughts and make sense of what just happened.

Because yeah, a strong emotion, that's what caused the freeze in time. And, like, of course, anger is probably the strong emotion in question, Stiles was mad and his whole body was tingling with it, so it's safe to say that it was it. But, first things first, the enchantment was so powerful and intricate that Stiles has no idea of how he's even managed to cast it. Not to mention that it's listed as a protection spell. Those cast only when the emissary feels a member of their pack is in danger, and Stiles still isn't sure what exactly he was trying to protect. He refuses to believe that he was trying to protect Derek from a pillow, seriously, his magic can't be that fucked up. Then again, Derek was the one arguing with him and if Stiles was so keen on being protected himself, maybe he should have frozen the sole reason he was angry in the first place. 

But _nope_. Of course, Stiles managed to freeze everything but Derek. Well done, really. Saved the wolf from the big bad fluffy pillow. Sometimes he can't believe this is his life

Stiles reads once more through the page, to see if he's missed any vital information and to try and come up with an easy way to explain this mess. He looks up when he feels Derek's gaze on him, the werewolf clearly growing impatient at Stiles's silence. 

"It's–" Stiles takes a deep breath. "It's complicated."

"No shit Sherlock," Derek says, rolling his eyes. It startles a chuckle out of Stiles. He sometimes still can't believe how much of a sarcastic shit Derek is.

"Anger is considered a negative emotion, so what we need to reverse the spell is an opposite feeling," Stiles explains. 

"So what, you need to be excessively calm?" Derek is saying, "like, what? should I give you a massage?"

And Stiles would love it, really, he would. He's been in need of a massage for ages, seriously. He definitely deserves one, especially considering everything he's been through in the past years. He'd totally go for a proper one, one of those massages that hurt a bit but left you boneless and relaxed. And, like, Stiles is 100% sure that Derek would be great at giving massages. Stiles can almost picture it, strong hands applying just the right pressure and manhandling him until he's relaxed and pliant. And, okay, Stiles really needs to steer off this track as quickly as he can because no, that's not necessarily what he needs to reverse the spell.

"No, but thanks for offering. It just needs to be a very positive one."

"Right, and how do we manage that?" Derek looks at him with a raised eyebrow.

"There's more actually," Stiles says, casting a fleeting glance at Derek before looking down. From the murderous look in Derek's eyes, Stiles isn't too opposed as to think that this is going to end in a bloodbath. Oh, God. This could actually be the day that Derek actually follows through with his threats of ripping Stiles's throat out. With his teeth.

"I need to make sure everyone in the pack is safe. It's a protection spell, I must have felt some kind of danger so I have to–" Stiles pauses when he sees the frown on Derek's face deepen with each word. He looks as if he's being personally attacked and, oh, shit. Stiles knows that look. It's guilt. Stiles hates it. He can't believe that idiot wolf really thinks that Stiles was feeling in danger because of him. This needs to stop like, now.

"No no no, _wait_ ," Stiles rushes out with his palm held up. " _I_ wasn't feeling in danger, it must have been you. I would have frozen the _danger_ , I would–"

"So what, were you protecting me?" Derek interrupts him. He has taken a step forward and Stiles has to reach out to the exam table in the middle of the room. Because Derek's tone is harsh, and it sounds like the fact that Stiles wants to protect him is just absurd. Like it's something foreign and incomprehensible. As if he doesn't really need any of it. As if he doesn't deserve it. And Stiles is so, so tired of this bullshit. 

"I was,” Stiles murmurs, “I'd always protect you.” 

He’s looking straight into Derek's eyes, hoping that he understands, hoping that he gets how important he is. He can see the way Derek's eyes widen in surprise, shock almost. There's a faint blush spreading on his cheeks and Stiles's heart is suddenly in his throat. Because he didn't know Derek could ever get more attractive than usual but, apparently, he can. Derek blushing is the most amazing thing Stiles has ever seen.

God, he's so screwed.

"But," Derek catches his attention, "what was the danger, though?"

And yeah, that's a topic Stiles didn't want to get to. He looks down, shaking his head a bit. He knows he should lie, he should come up with an excuse. But then Derek would worry and would feel guilty for not noticing sooner a danger that wasn’t even there in the first place. And that's a path Stiles doesn't want to take.

"I think it was the pillow? You were still healing I–" 

It’s barely a whisper, and Stiles doesn’t know how to go on without dying from embarrassment. He feels his cheeks burning as they share a look, Derek probably gauging whether Stiles is serious. And Stiles is. And he hates it. 

He tries to look defiant, but Derek is bursting out laughing. He's in stitches, properly wheezing, holding the exam table with one hand as he bends his knees and ends up in a crouching position.

And, _oh_ , this is new. 

Because, sure, Derek has been happier lately, calmer and more relaxed. The weight he carried on his shoulders somehow less heavy, less consuming. But this is the first time that Stiles witnesses a full body laugh from Derek. And scratch whatever Stiles said before. This. The scrunched up eyes and the teeth bared, the way Derek holds his belly and the way his body is pulsing through each peal of laughter, this. This is the most amazing thing he's ever seen. 

God, Stiles is so _completely_ screwed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've had this second part sitting in my drafts for ages, unedited and somewhat unfinished. And, while taking a break from writing my Sterek Glompfest fic I thought I could finally finish this.  
> It ended up being way longer than what I expected... and it _took_ way longer than expected for me to publish it, too...
> 
> I hope you still enjoy it [**StaciNadia**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/StaciNadia), sorry it too me so long!

It takes Derek a total of four minutes to resume brooding as usual, and by then Stiles has managed to recover from the shock of seeing him laugh. Well, almost. He's still staring when Derek finally speaks.

"So, we need to make sure everyone is safe.” He says, Stiles barely manages to nod, still too concentrated on trying to gauge Derek’s thoughts regarding his latest revelation.

“Where do you want to start? I can still feel the pack bonds, and everyone seems fine, but I'm guessing you have to see for yourself?" Derek goes on, all business-like.

He seems more relaxed; as if laughing has somehow smoothed over his usual frown. Stiles takes a deep breath, gauging reactions will have to wait.

"Well, we can't really drive so we should think about a smart itinerary? I suppose we can find Scott and Malia in the same place, as well as Chris and Isaac–" Stiles says, counting on his fingers. "Not sure where Liam might be? Also, Lydia should be home with Parrish and–" 

Stiles pauses. Derek has been nodding at each name, staring intently at Stiles's hand. He tilts his head in curiosity when Stiles stops talking.

"Can we go check on my dad?" Stiles asks, his voice thin as he casts a look to the ground. He kind of didn't want to bring that up. He knows that his father is not strictly _pack_ but Stiles would undoubtedly feel much more relieved if he could make sure his dad was okay, too. 

It’s not like he thinks Derek would say "no", but, at the same time, he’s aware that they're trying to get this whole thing done somewhat quickly, and checking up on his dad is not really a priority. So, yeah, Stiles is, admittedly, a bit anxious about bringing it up.

He chances a glance up to Derek's face, and he can see something different in his eyes. His gaze looks almost soft. 

Derek's laughter earlier already threw Stiles thoroughly off-kilter and, now, the way Derek's eyes look at him – almost carefully, as if he’s studying him and watching his movements with an entirely new interest – is simply unusual. Stiles isn't sure what's going on, what's changed, but his heart beats a little bit faster every time he notices Derek's eyes on him, so he really, really hopes Derek's not listening in.

"Stiles, of course, we can. Whatever you need," Derek says, bringing up a hand to Stiles's shoulder and squeezing briefly. It's reassuring, but Stiles's heart is currently busy doing backflips nevertheless. There should be freestyle jumping contests for hearts, his would totally win with all the practice it's doing.

The thing is: there's something new, something Stiles doesn't recognise, in the way Derek's behaving; he seems subdued, calmer, like all his usual anger and resentment have somehow floated away. It's not that Derek always looks mad and on edge, he's stopped regularly looking like that years ago, really. But he is still pretty much always alert, his defences put up, ready to face any possible danger; so, yeah, Stiles is quite surprised to see him so untroubled. It's kind of as if the fact that all the hazards and threats are supposedly frozen makes Derek feel somewhat secure. And, let's face it, Stiles would give everything to keep his expression this way and to keep him relaxed and safe. Hell, he's frozen time to keep Derek safe, that alone should be testament enough to his commitment.

•••

They stop at Argent's house first. 

Isaac is on the sofa, a scowl on his face as he's frozen in the middle of what looks like a yell. His outstretched arm is pointing at the tv and Stiles is surprised to find it stuck on a game-show contestant who, from the looks of it, has apparently given the wrong answer losing an insane amount of money. 

"Who knew Isaac felt so strongly about Jeopardy!" Stiles mutters, Derek rolls his eyes as he moves along towards the kitchen, mumbling something about dumb kids that Stiles isn't totally sure is about Isaac only. 

They find Argent in there, he's cutting some cheese on the counter as the water on the stove is boiling. It looks like he's making mac&cheese for dinner, from scratch. And how much more pretentious could Argent ever be? Stiles can tell you from a fact that the best mac&cheese comes in a box and can be found in the top drawer of the freezer, right next to the frozen peas. He shots a glance at Derek with a raised eyebrow.

"What," Derek asks, or, rather, says. And there Stiles thought he'd grown out of asking things without inflexion. 

"Nothing, just–" Stiles waves his hand at Argent. "Mac&cheese from scratch?" Derek frowns as if Stiles isn't making any sense. 

Of course, Derek would be one of those assholes who made mac&cheese from scratch, too. Shit, Stiles can totally tell it would even be good. He's tried Derek's cooking before, and Stiles is man enough to admit that it's simply amazing. And like, sure, Stiles might have a tiny little crush on the guy, so maybe he's a bit biased, but, to date, he has yet to taste a lasagna better than the one Derek makes following his own family recipe, with the fresh bechamel and ragù and parmesan and–

 _Oh God, it's so good._

Stiles's stomach rumbles loudly at the thought of the delicious dish and, yup, Stiles is officially hungry; like, not just peckish, he feels like he's fucking going to starve to death. He realises then, that, sure, time stopped for everyone else right before dinner, but he's had a fucking long day, and he really would like to get some food at some point. His stomach rumbles again for good measure, and Stiles self consciously looks to his left, where Derek is rolling his eyes and mumbling again about dumb kids. 

Right, _this is starting to get old, Sourwolf._

He raises one eyebrow as he watches Derek rummaging through the cupboards. 

"What are you even doing?" Stiles hisses, keeping his voice down for some unfathomable reason. 

"Why are you whispering?" Derek asks in reply, leaving Stiles a bit unsure of the answer; after all, it's not like anyone can hear him.

"Because it looks like you're doing something you shouldn't be doing," Stiles says matter-of-factly. 

Derek shakes his head and rolls his eyes, ignoring Stiles's words and setting a pack of sliced bread on the counter before opening the fridge. Stiles is still watching him with a frown when he produces a package of ham and steals the piece of cheese from Argent's hands.

"Are you making a sandwich?" Stiles asks.

"I'm making two sandwiches," Derek says with a curt nod, laying out four slices of bread and carefully lining them with ham and cheese. He presses down with the other slices, efficiently making two simple sandwiches. He grabs one, putting it in his own mouth as his hands are busy putting everything back and carefully placing the cheese back in Argent's hand. Stiles is still staring at him in mild shock. What is he even doing? He bets Argent isn't going to be happy about this.

"You don't want it?" Derek finally asks, closing the fridge with one hand as he takes another bite of his now half-eaten sandwich. His eyebrows are raised, and his chin is tilted upwards as if pointing to the other sandwich still waiting on the counter. 

And. Oh. So that was for Stiles. He really didn't expect that. He takes the sandwich wordlessly as Derek leads the way out of Argent's house.

Stiles spends the whole walk up to the Police Station casting side glances at Derek. Of course, the sandwich was absolutely delicious. And that's not normal, it was the simplest sandwich ever. Stiles could probably just dismiss it as him being exceptionally hungry, but there must have been something else. He refuses to think that his taste buds are crushing on Derek Hale worse than Stiles is.

•••

"What the fuck?" Stiles shouts, eyes wide in outrage, as he rounds the corner to the Sheriff office. His dad is currently stuck mid-bite, holding a cheeseburger from the diner on Main Street as a portion of curly fries is sitting on his desk, still untouched. There's even ketchup on them.

Stiles is furious.

His frown deepens as he notices the brown bag containing the Ceasar salad – the one with the low-sodium dressing Stiles carefully prepared earlier that morning – lying on the filing cabinet.

"You motherfu–"

"Stiles, it's still your dad you're talking to." 

Stiles stops as he hears Derek speak from the door. He turns around and sees him leaning on the jamb, arms crossed as he looks on. There's a small smile playing on his lips, as if the asshole finds the whole thing amusing, it's Stiles's turn to roll his eyes then.

He takes a calming breath before taking the cheeseburger from his father's hands and putting it in his own mouth. Oh, God, that's so good. How is he even starving again? What happened to the delicious sandwich he’s had, like, five minutes ago?

Stiles hears rustling and turns to his left to find Derek silently taking the salad out of the brown bag and passing it to him. He carefully places the Tupperware in front of his dad as Derek takes the curly fries tray and walks back to the door with it.

Perfect. 

His dad is going to have a lovely surprise once the magic wears off. That'll teach him to eat junk food. Stiles has managed to save him from carbs and fats once again. He chuckles at the thought, taking another bite of the cheeseburger.

He walks up to Derek who's unhurriedly eating curly fries while waiting for him at the door.

"You're a real hero, Stiles, saving us mere mortals from pillows and unhealthy diets," Derek says. And, wait. Was that a joke? That was a fucking joke. Right, Derek Hale is a sarcastic asshole. How could Stiles even forget? Stiles hates him. Really. 

Okay, no, of course he doesn't, but that's not the point. 

"Excuse you, not all of us can eat shit food without our arteries clogging up," Stiles says, waving the cheeseburger and throwing crumbs all around. There's also a drop of ketchup landing on the floor somewhere so, yeah, probably Stiles hasn't really thought that through. But he's already mid-wave now and there's that pesky force called “ _momentum_ “ that isn't letting him stop. Luckily, Derek grabs Stiles's wrist, stilling him before he makes an even worse mess.

"You're a menace, stop waving this around, you're going to get ketchup everywhere," Derek says, rolling his eyes. He then unexpectedly ducks his head, taking a bite of the cheeseburger and Stiles can't do anything but gape, as his brain literally turns to mush. Because, shit, that shouldn't have looked sexy, Stiles is 99.9% sure it shouldn't have; but, fuck if it didn't feel somewhat intimate. And, like, Stiles knows that Derek definitely didn't mean to tease him, but if that damn werewolf doesn't stop holding Stiles close and pressing his thumb on his pulse point Stiles’s heart is going to just burst out of his ribcage and run for the hills.

"You thief!" Stiles exclaims once Derek releases his grip on his wrist and he regains the ability to form words. 

They're still standing close at the door as Derek rolls his eyes in response and takes a couple of curly fries from the tray, holding them between his fingers. It's then that Stiles's brain officially shuts down, as the word " _payback_ " flashes right before his eyes. He grabs Derek's wrist, stopping his hand halfway to his slightly open mouth, he ducks down and bites at the curly fries, his lips almost closing around Derek's fingers as Stiles casts him a glance upwards through his eyelashes. And, yup, that's Derek Hale blushing, right there. Stiles tries to suppress the voice in his head that keeps on reminding him that Derek looks exceptionally cute when he's flustered, believe him, he really tries. He's still unsure how he manages to merely smirk; somehow reining in his emotions for just long enough to chew on the fries and lick his lips, before walking out of the station and towards Liam's house. He's just glad that Derek is a couple of steps behind him, so he doesn't see the goofy smile on Stiles's face at the thought of being able to make Derek blush.

•••

"I don't think I needed to see that," Stiles grumbles, burying his flushed face in his arm; he's leaning against the wall, out on Lydia's porch, trying to catch his breath. Derek is sitting down on the stairs right next to him, his hands covering his mouth as he's looking in front of him with an empty gaze. He kind of looks like he's plotting a murder; Stiles is pretty sure he's the designated victim.

And, really, that's totally unfair. It's not _completely_ his fault. 

The thing is that they had checked up on Liam and Mason first, luckily finding Corey with them at Liam's house. They were playing video games on the carpeted floor and, seriously, could they be any more predictable? 

To be honest, Stiles hadn't really felt such a strong need to check up on them. After all, they hadn't even been there while they fought the hunters, Stiles had been pretty sure they were safe. But they were still part of the pack, and Stiles cared about them, so he and Derek went, pretending that Stiles hadn't just pretty much made out with the curly fries in Derek's hand.

It had been a quick stop; Stiles had had to steal a glass of water from the kitchen to calm his nerves on the way out, while Derek was waiting for him outside. It had seemed like Derek was entirely set on never speaking to Stiles again after what had happened at the Police Station and Stiles was all sorts of not okay with it. 

He had started spouting random facts, then, trying to keep his mind busy and, at the same time, to elicit a reaction from Derek. The werewolf had looked murderous and ready to kill Stiles for the first five minutes, until Stiles had said something about Greek Mythology that he just knew wasn't completely accurate and, _bang_ , Derek hadn't been able to resist correcting him and launching in a heated discussion. 

And, like, not to brag, but Stiles is a fucking genius. 

In retrospect, that might have been _exactly_ the reason why Derek was distracted. But, at the same time, it's still not entirely Stiles's fault. Of course, he's kind of the root of the problem, what with his fantastic ability to stop time and all; but it's not like he has superhuman senses and can smell two people having sex from miles. Like, seriously, Derek could have noticed that _before_ they walked right into Lydia's room and caught her and Parrish naked in bed.

And, to be fucking fair, they didn't even notice straight away; too busy arguing to actually look at what was going on in the room. Stiles had just launched on a rant about the benefits of a digital bestiary as opposed to a hard copy when Derek distractedly turned towards the bed, and his eyes became as large as saucers. Stiles didn't miss a beat, keeping up his rambling and merely turning towards the bed out of curiosity as to why Derek had stopped paying attention. However, the words died in his throat at the scene in front of them.

They both chanced a side-glance towards each other then; Stiles felt his face burning and wasn't really surprised to see Derek blushing as well. Because, sure, it wasn't like any of them was under some kind of delusion that the other members of the pack weren't engaging in, huh, _bedroom activities_ , but being aware of it and actually witnessing the fact were two entirely different things. Needless to say, they left the room as quickly as possible.

Admittedly, Stiles wasn't that shocked seeing Lydia in bed with Parrish. The pack was made up of a bunch of healthy twenty-somethings with an even healthier sex-life, after all; and Stiles could tell he definitely knew way too much about Scott and Malia's sexual life, courtesy of wolfsbane infused alcohol and Scott being a total lightweight. So, yeah, there was no point in being surprised, really.

What _was_ actually surprising (and kind of upsetting, really) was that, deep down, Stiles knew it should have looked odd to see your high-school-crush-turned-girlfriend-turned-ex-girlfriend in bed with someone else, but somehow it wasn’t. In all fairness, she had been his girlfriend for about three weeks before they both begrudgingly admitted there was no chemistry whatsoever, and, really, Stiles was already so gone for Derek by then that he wasn’t even surprised; actually, Lydia hadn’t been surprised either.

From his spot at the door, he couldn’t see the expression on Parrish’s face, but he was sure that, if he were to look, he’d see pure adoration. And, like, thinking back now, he gets it. That’s what she deserves. She deserves to be worshipped, to be loved unconditionally. And Stiles is so glad that Parrish can give this to her because he definitely wasn't able to.

And Lydia, there she was, on top of Parrish, her head rolling back in pleasure, mouth slack and eyes scrunched closed. Stiles has to admit that it was kind of hot; and, at the same time, again, quite telling: there had never been that much passion between them, he had never witnessed such abandon on her part. Hell, Stiles had never witnessed such abandon on _his own_ part. And, like, it's not that he doesn't like Lydia, she is amazing and smart and incredible, and Stiles loves her like the sister he's never had. But, really, that is just one single detail in the long list of reasons why their relationship couldn't work. A list that Stiles had, of course, put into writing and that included, as one of the main issues, the simple fact that Lydia wasn't Derek Hale, and Stiles, apparently, wasn't interested in anything else anymore. He's still not sure how that has become his life, to be honest. 

•••

Stiles is the first to move, taking a deep breath and punching the wall lightly. He finally walks down the stairs past Derek who looks up from his sitting position as Stiles turns around and stands in front of the stairs. 

"I think we should go," Stiles says, extending his arm in front of himself towards Derek. He seems to be taken aback for a moment until he nods briefly, grabbing Stiles's hand and pulling himself up.

Stiles is pretty sure that for a moment he must have gotten lost in Derek's eyes because the next thing he knows is that Derek is walking past him, hand still in his, pulling his arm along for a couple of steps, before letting go as Stiles turns around and starts to follow.

"I'm sorry we walked in on them," Stiles mumbles after a minute; he can still feel his hand tingling where Derek's fingers slipped out of his grasp.

Derek shakes his head, turning slightly towards Stiles without stopping.

"No, I should have been more careful, I–" Derek says. "I wasn't paying attention, I let my guard down." 

And there it is again, the guilt. Stiles hates it. He stops walking and takes a deep breath, hoping to keep his heartbeat at bay, in case Derek mistakes its racing for fear or lies instead of the minor heartbreak he's currently going through. 

"Derek, it's fine, there wasn't any danger at all. I mean, you're totally allowed to let your guard down, I think–" Stiles pauses, well here goes nothing. "I mean– I'm pretty sure that the whole point of me stopping time was to actually _allow you_ to let your guard down for a bit?” He finally says, casting his eyes down and letting out a frustrated huff. 

Shit. Super shit.

Okay, that’s not how it was supposed to go down. He wasn't planning to share so much information. Of course, he is pretty sure he'd be willing to give up a good portion of his own pride as long as the defeated look on Derek's face disappeared. And, like, he knows that Derek must have started to catch on to the fact that Stiles cares for him a little more than the ordinary, but– 

Well, Stiles still isn't sure he's ready to say it _all_ out loud, yet. Because, until he doesn't say anything, he can pretend that there's a chance that Derek cares for him just as much. Until he keeps silent about his true intentions, he can pretend that Derek doesn't just consider him the weird human kid that follows him around and fails so spectacularly at being Scott's emissary that they end up having to fix his mess every time. 

What's more, Stiles has had enough of seeing Derek looking so sure that he's to blame every time anything regarding the pack goes wrong and putting him in the position of rejecting Stiles would be just another reason to make him feel guilty. So, no, Stiles doesn't want to share any more information, thank you very much. 

Luckily Derek approaches him, stopping that derailing train of thoughts with a hand on his shoulder.

"Thanks," he whispers, his fingers squeezing gently. 

And there it is again, that softness in Derek's gaze that Stiles witnessed earlier. God, he even looks concerned for a moment, Stiles is so, so, close to confessing his undying love for him there and then. 

He somehow manages to just swallow, instead, and shakes his head to try and clear his mind a bit before pulling up his hand and patting Derek's shoulder.

"It's cool, dude, it wasn't really a hardship–" Stiles says, trying to keep it light. "I barely noticed, literally." He huffs out a laugh, eliciting a snort from Derek, who shakes his head and pats Stiles's shoulder in turn, before letting go and resuming walking.

He waits for Stiles to catch up and, for a moment, he looks deep in thought as they take some steps in a comfortable silence. 

"Are you okay anyway?" Derek asks suddenly.

"Sure, yeah, I'm fine,” Stiles says. “Why do you ask?" he can’t help but ask, turning to the side with a raised eyebrow as curiosity gets the best of him. They’re close to the diner and Stiles can already see Scott’s motorcycle in the parking lot. He’s really looking forward to this all being over to be completely honest, but he doesn’t want to sound whiny when he’s sure Derek has had enough just as much as Stiles has.

"Well, you just had to see your ex-girlfriend sleeping with someone else," Derek says with a small huff of breath. He sounds mildly annoyed, and Stiles is pretty sure it’s because he didn’t catch on immediately to what he was talking about, but, still, Derek is worried for him. Derek is looking out for him. And, sure, it’s nothing new, Stiles and Derek always look out for each other, but Stiles still can't help the broad smile appearing on his face.

"Dude, you're sweet–" he says and, when Derek blushes lightly, Stiles just barely loses his mind before managing to keep his heartbeat stable enough to say: "But, I've been over Lyda for ages."

Derek frowns so deeply Stiles thinks his eyebrows will stay that way forever. ”Stiles, you broke up six months ago,” he says then, his eyes as big as saucers as his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. 

And Stiles is admittedly confused because he’s really not that subtle when it comes to his feelings, but Derek looks shocked, as if some kind of enormous realisation had just hit him, as if Stiles had just revealed a huge secret that he wasn’t aware of just minutes before. 

Then again, the subject is bordering once more towards that off-limit topic Stiles doesn’t really want to approach, so he just shrugs. 

"And why do you think we broke up?" he says. 

He can’t help but smirk as Derek looks like he wants to reply but doesn’t know how. He seems frustrated, mouthing for air for a couple seconds while they approach the entrance of the diner. And Stiles should feel bad, he knows, but Derek was being stubborn and, really, is there anything better than leaving a werewolf speechless? Nope, exactly. 

•••

Stiles coos.

Stiles coos like an idiot. Because, really, there’s nothing else he can do when they enter the diner and find Malia and Scott sitting next to each other in one of the booths, staring into each other’s eyes with a loving smile on both their faces. They look like one of those smitten couples from the movies, those that will whisper sweet nothings to each other while they share passionate kisses in the rain. And, seriously, Stiles needs to stop watching films with Isaac. 

He studies their expression: they look more than fine and, although Stiles was already pretty sure that they would have been okay, a sense of relief washes over him. He knows that the fact that they were the last people he and Derek had to check up on has most certainly a lot to do with his reaction. But there’s also the knowledge, in the back of his head, that his best friend – his _brother_ – has finally found someone else after Kira’s left. Someone who, Stiles is sure, will be able to take care of him and make him happy, and Stiles is so, so, glad. 

“God they’re so cute,” Stiles can’t help but whisper. He snorts when he sees Derek out of the corner of his eye, he’s rolling his eyes so hard he could pull a muscle. 

“Revolting,” Derek comments. And Stiles would scold him, but his tone is definitely a bit fond, so he just nods along, huffing out a small laugh at how ridiculous the werewolf is being. 

“Teeth-rotting really,” Stiles confirms.

Derek watches him with his eyebrows raised, and a skeptical look on his face as Stiles takes out his phone, with all the intention of looking whether the camera works and taking a picture of the couple in front of them. Scott is going to love it. 

Stiles silently cheers when he sees that, although his phone doesn’t seem to have any reception whatsoever, it looks like the camera app is still working. He takes a test shot of the floor of the diner, to make sure it is really working, before he leans forward and takes a close up of Malia and Scott’s faces. He stands up straight after, thumbing through his phone to check how the picture turned out. He can’t help but coo some more when he sees it, and he grins, turning his phone towards Derek. He’s standing a couple steps back, looking thoroughly unimpressed, next to one of the frozen waitress who’s holding a tray with two glasses of water and a portion of fries on it. Stiles makes a mental note of stealing a couple before they leave. 

He decides to take another picture, opting to do so from a bit further away, he takes a step back, snapping a photo and checking out how it comes out. Perfect. He takes another, going for a different angle as Derek huffs next to him. 

God he’s such a _sourwolf_.

Stiles is still thumbing at his phone and zooming in on one of the pictures when he takes another small step backwards. What he wasn’t expecting was to be met with resistance. As he suddenly realises that he’s hit one of the chairs, it’s too late for him to keep his balance, so he flails, his hands flying outwards as he tries to grab something to stay upright. He fails spectacularly and finally tumbles down on the side with a whelp, landing on the floor right next to the waitress. 

He closed his eyes on his way down, so he’s not sure what kind of damage he’s just caused. He’s pretty sure he _has_ caused some, if the growling coming from Derek is any indication. Stiles is almost scared to see what’s happened. He rubs a hand over his face, groaning lightly and opening one eye at the time. In his line of sight, from his position on the floor, he can see fries scattered all around the waitress’s short heeled shoes and a look a bit further tells him that the water has fallen as well, as the plastic glasses are still rolling almost imperceptibly on the tiled floor. 

It’s interesting how frozen objects seems to be following ordinary laws of physics once unstuck, Stiles should probably study this phenomenon further, but the rumbling that is still coming from Derek tells him that that is not the time. He looks up then, finally realising why Derek was growling and– 

Oh God, Stiles is going to _die_.

Derek’s face is soaking wet, and so are the top of both his shirt and his jacket. Stiles clearly hit the tray the waitress was holding on his way down, and the water from the glass must have landed entirely on top of Derek. Yup, Derek, the big scary werewolf, who’s currently looking murderous and incredulous at the same time, Stiles didn’t know that was even possible. Also, Stiles isn’t entirely sure he’s going to survive until the end of the day, whenever that might be. 

“Uhm… Oops?” He tries to say, going for a tentative smile and looking up through his lashes. Derek’s pupils are wide like he can’t believe this is happening to him.

Stiles manages to scramble to his feet and looks as Derek rubs a hand on his face, a drop of water runs down the side of his cheek and down his jaw and Stiles would probably find it mildly erotic if it weren’t for the scowl etched on Derek’s face. Okay, let’s be honest here, Stiles _finds_ it mildly erotic, but also incredibly cute. Because Derek looks like a scorned puppy and Stiles kind of wants to pet him and keep this image forever engraved in his mind.

It’s kind of funny that it takes him until he tightens the grip on his phone, trying to steer his mind off the thought of petting or, worse, _licking_ Derek’s face, to realise that pictures are a thing. And while Derek might possibly kill him for taking a photo of him like that, Stiles’s situation can’t really get worse so, in a moment of bravery (or madness, probably), he pulls up his phone, camera facing Derek, and snaps a picture. To be fair, perhaps Derek wouldn’t even have noticed if only Stiles had kept his stupid phone on silent. Honestly, what even is the point of having a shutter sound on a phone camera? Stiles has half a mind to send a strongly worded letter to Samsung to complain about it. 

Derek turns his gaze up towards him, eyes wide in mild shock. It almost looks like he can’t really believe that Stiles would be so stupid to do anything like that. 

"What are you doing.” Derek grumbles, no intonation whatsoever in his question, as his eyebrows move so upwards they’re almost touching his hairline. 

Stiles is rooted to the spot for a moment, lost in Derek’s face. He is sidetracked when his gaze lands on Derek’s eyes, so green that Stiles kind of wants to dive into them; so it’s completely unsurprising that it takes almost half a minute for his brain to finally catch up with what’s going on. When that happens, Stiles bolts, starting to run towards the exit of the diner; he shouts “I’m sorry!” Dragging out the “y” while he pushes down the handle of the door and skips the three steps outside with a jump, a somewhat nervous and uncontrollable giggle makes its way past his lips and causes him lose his breath while he sprints right towards the preserve.

He turns around, briefly. He’s still chuckling when he hears Derek voice right behind him. 

“Stiles,” Derek says. “Do you even realise I’m a werewolf?” 

He thinks he can hear a hint of laughter in Derek’s tone and there’s definitely a weird mix between a smile and a frown on Derek’s face. It kind of looks like he can’t believe Stiles is such an idiot. And, really, he’s probably right because who, in their right mind, would run from a werewolf? A werewolf with superhuman strength and speed who’s going to catch up in a very short time? Well, Stiles apparently. Because he’s just that smart. 

•••

Stiles is breathless and still giggling, running through an open meadow in the preserve when he realises that Derek is not catching up. And, wait, how is that even possible? Derek definitely runs faster than Stiles; like, miles per hour faster. He chances a look behind his shoulders and sees that Derek isn’t there anymore. 

His heart skips a beat as he stops dead in his tracks, disrupting the small leaves that cover the ground like a blanket. He calls out for Derek, and he would love to say that he doesn’t start to panic a bit when he doesn’t hear a reply, but that would be a lie.

He takes a look around, trying to catch some movement between the trees, but everything seems quiet. He’s starting to walk back towards the diner to see if Derek has stopped somewhere when a dark figure lands right in front of him with a loud growl. Stiles literally jumps backwards with a shriek before closing his eyes and flailing his arms to try and shield his face. He stands still, not daring to look at what’s in front of him, he can hear the _thing_ steadily breathing in the silence of the preserve and he hates himself for being so careless. 

He should have known that someone – _something_ – would have chosen this moment to attack the town. After all, with everything stuck and only two people to hold the fort it was the perfect occasion. Stiles just hopes that whatever is going to happen the spell will just wear off and that Derek can keep everyone safe.

Shit, Derek. He is going to feel so guilty if anything happens to the pack. Stiles curses inwardly once more.

Suddenly a sharp sound startles him, making him jump. But it sounds somehow familiar, even though Stiles can’t pinpoint where he’s heard it before. He slightly opens his eyes to see where it came from and–

Fuck. It was phone-camera shutter. Derek’s _fucking_ phone camera shutter. Stiles can’t believe him.

“Oh my God, you’re the fucking worst,” Stiles says, rubbing a hand down his face as he lets out a breath he didn’t notice he was holding.

“You should have seen the look on your face,” Derek says. And he’s properly cackling like mad while he studies the picture he just took, and, really, Stiles kind of wants to throttle him so much sometimes. But Derek’s laughing, again; and the orange glow from the setting sun is casting shadows on his face, and Stiles just can’t help the stutter in his heartbeat when he sees it.

The thing is that Derek kind of always looks amazing. Okay, well maybe he doesn’t look that good when he’s covered in blood or monster guts but, still, he’s admittedly one of the best looking people Stiles has ever seen. But seriously, laughing-happy-relaxed-Derek is on a whole new level. His face is glowing, and he looks content and calm, and, really, Stiles’s heart is starting to sort of hurt from how fast it’s beating. He can’t seem to take his eyes off of Derek and suddenly he’s hit with an urge to touch and feel Derek’s skin under his fingers. 

Suddenly, Stiles decides he has to take another picture, according to his addled brain, that’s apparently the next best thing while touching and feeling is out of the question and, well, let’s face it: the view is too good to be wasted anyway.

Stiles manages to take one single shot before Derek notices and looks up in surprise. He frowns but moves quickly, springing with the aforementioned superhuman speed, grabbing Stiles’s phone and holding it over his head. Stiles looks affronted for a moment but immediately tries to reach for it, it’s not like Derek is miles taller than he is. They’re actually pretty much the same height. And, really, he would have managed to grab it if Derek didn’t suddenly take off, running off through the meadow in a fit of laughter.

“Oh my God,” Stiles shouts, rolling his eyes before starting to run right behind Derek. “You’re a child– seriously– give me back my phone.” He says, breathless again as he tries unsuccessfully to keep the laughter at bay while he speeds through the tall grass. 

And Derek is laughing too, looking back at Stiles with a massive grin on his face, one arm outstretched in front of him as he keeps Stiles’s phone out of reach. And, honestly, Stiles almost can’t believe how absurdly into Derek he is. It’s sort of elating the way Derek makes him feel; like his heart could explode with happiness and pride at how amazing Derek proves to be every single day. For a split second Stiles looks at the openness of Derek’s expression, the way he smiles and his face lights up, and he can’t help but wonder whether he’ll ever be able to get over him. If he’ll ever be able to live a normal life, without Derek by his side. He’s almost certain that the answer is no. 

He’s lost in his thoughts for a moment, and he doesn’t notice that Derek has stopped running. Stiles looks up and can perfectly see that Derek is right in his trajectory, but it’s too late to stop or turn so nothing can prevent him from barrelling into the werewolf just a moment later. Somehow Derek’s senses were alert enough to allow him to tun around just in time for Stiles to cannonball into his arms and send them both tumbling to the ground in a fit of laughter. Derek’s arm still outstretched upwards as Stiles tries once more to grab his phone to no avail.

And Derek, well, Derek is still grinning, looking perfect in the light of the ever-setting sun. And really Stiles is again stuck staring at his face; he props himself up on Derek’s chest, still looking at him with an awed expression. He’s unabashed, there’s no way he can hide how he’s feeling anymore, so he just gives up and stops fighting it. He just hopes it won’t end up being too painful. 

A small frown appears on Derek’s face as Stiles smiles, his eyes roaming Derek’s face.

“Stiles.” Derek asks; or says, really, Stiles isn’t sure anymore at this point. 

“Today was the first time I’ve seen you laugh,” Stiles says. His words bypassing whichever filter his brain might still have had. Stiles doesn’t even mind.

Derek frowns for a split second, before huffing out a small sound of protest and rolling his eyes.

“I laugh sometimes,” he says, one of his hands curling around Stiles’s hip while the other rests on their side, still holding Stiles’s phone.

Stiles looks up, deep in thought for a moment as he tries to come up with other occasions when Derek laughed so openly and freely, he comes up short.

“Nah, you really don’t,” Stiles says, matter-of-factly. He grins and pats Derek’s chest lightly. He can feel Derek’s fingers pressing into his skin and he doesn’t ever want to move. 

Derek smirks, casting his gaze down briefly before looking back up into Stiles’s eyes.

“You make me laugh all the time,” Derek says. 

And, scratch whatever Stiles said about not moving. Because he can hear all the truth and the affection in Derek’s words, and of course Stiles is scared shitless, but his heart is going to beat out of his chest soon anyway, so it’s not like he has much to lose. That’s also probably the only chance he’ll ever have. So he just goes for it.

He lifts one hand, slowly trailing a thumb across Derek’s jaw. Derek closes his eyes, looking relaxed and content and Stiles would give anything for Derek to be able to always look like that. Derek lifts his own hand, putting it over Stiles’s own and Stiles thinks “ _fuck it_ ” and darts forward, slotting his lips against Derek’s.

Kissing Derek is incredible and amazing, and Stiles never wants to do anything else in his life ever. 

They kiss slowly at first, just lips on lips as Derek’s hand trails up to cup the back of Stiles’s head and Stiles bunches up Derek’s shirt, raking his fingers on his sides. But, then, Stiles shifts almost imperceptibly and he can hear Derek’s moan reverberating in his rib cage, thrumming along with his own heart. He traces Derek’s lips with his tongue, and he’s surprised when Derek willingly opens his mouth and meets his tongue halfway, deepening the kiss.

It’s minutes later that they part in lack of oxygen. Stiles stares up at Derek, unsure whether he has imagined what just happened.

“Huh– Right, so, here’s your strong emotion by the way” Stiles suddenly says, casting his gaze down. 

Derek’s fingers on his chin force him to look up, and he’s met with a slight frown as Derek stares at him in confusion.

"What do you mean?" He asks. And for a moment Stiles hesitates. Because this is it. This is the moment when Stiles’s life is going to change. And he’s not sure he’s ready for it. But Derek is looking at him with a half smile and Stiles wants to kiss him again.

"I love you." Stiles finally says. And there it is, the secret he’s tried to keep for the past few hours – or rather, for years really. It’s out, and Stiles isn’t sure he’s ready to face a rejection. His heart is beating so fast he can hear it in his ears.

Derek looks surprised for a moment before a broad smile appears on his face. Stiles blinks, hope flaring in his heart.

“I know,” Derek says. And, well Stiles can’t help but gape, because that’s definitely not the reaction he was expecting, not at all.

“Did– Did you just Han Solo-ed me?” Stiles asks, stuttering in mild shock.

“You’ve stopped the entire world just for me, I think I might have an idea of the extent of your affection,” Derek says, still looking happy and content. And Stiles can’t help the flush that paints his face, he can feel it down to his neck and he doesn’t know how to get out of this situation. Because Derek has kissed him back, sure, and Han Solo definitely loves Leia, but Derek never _said_ anything about reciprocating Stiles’s feelings. And, really, Stiles should have expected it; there was no chance that Derek felt the same way. Stiles is pretty sure he’s _this close_ to breaking down in tears.

He tries to extricate himself from Derek’s arm, sitting up on his haunches. Derek keeps his hold on him, though, looking confused with a frown marring his features. 

“What are you doing?” He asks. And Stiles kind of hates him right now, because, seriously, couldn’t he just let him down easily? No, of course not. He had to make fun of him, going as far as using a line out of one of Stiles’s favourite movies. That’s so unfair. 

There’s a knot in Stiles’s throat and he can’t do anything to stop that first tear that rolls down his cheek.

Derek’s reaction is immediate then. He sits up quickly, cupping Stiles’s cheek with his thumb touching the bruise there lightly. It’s funny, Stiles almost forgot it was there. He fits one hand back on Stiles’s hip, pulling him close, chest to chest, and Stiles has to straddle him because he doesn’t know where else to put his legs. 

They look at each other for a second that feels like an hour, until–

”Fuck, Stiles" Derek finally says. Stiles can’t help but look up at him, wide eyes almost pleading. He wants to speak, wants to ask what’s going on, but he still has a knot in his throat and the tears are threatening to spill. And, he’s still in a sort of a limbo where Derek still hasn’t been clear, still might feel the same. Stiles really doesn’t want to break this fantasy he’s living, this fantasy in which Derek holds him and kisses him willingly. So, he just stays silent, grabbing at the fabric of Derek’s shirt and hoping to at least be able to keep this a little longer.

Derek splays his fingers over Stiles’s face, keeping his head tilted towards him and looking into his eyes. 

“You have no idea of how incredible you are, do you?” He says. 

Stiles widens his eyes in surprise. Or hope. He isn’t sure. But a treacherous voice in his head is telling him that maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t have to give up this fantasy yet.

“Derek what–“ He tries to say, but Derek interrupts him with a slight shake of his head.

“Stiles, I love you so much, I've loved you for so long." He says, running his lips along Stiles’s cheek, placing a small kiss on his temple before looking back into Stiles’s eyes.

"You do?" Stiles asks, incredulous.

Derek nods, kissing Stiles’s lips briefly before leaning back and looking at him again.

"You make me happy. And you make me feel safe. You're amazing, of course I’m in love with you.” He repeats. 

And that. _That_ is the single best thing that Derek could ever say, and Stiles’s heart is burning a hole in his chest, beating like mad. Because Derek loves him back, because Derek feels safe with him, he feels happy. And that’s just convenient, isn’t it? Because Stiles loves him too, so much it hurts. And Derek makes him feel safe and happy and loved. And, seriously, that's got to be the best feeling in the world.

Derek smiles, bright like the sun and Stiles can’t do anything but throw his arms around his neck and kiss him, parting his lips at once and licking into his mouth as the world tilts out of its axis and they both tumble down on the ground. They part briefly, laughing like mad, both looking giddy and happy before they can’t stand it anymore and they have to kiss again. 

And just like that, as Stiles and Derek’s lips meet and their breaths hitch, the world starts turning again.

In the distance, Sheriff Stilinski tries to bite into his hamburger, only to taste thin air. 

"What the f–"

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this fic, constructive criticism is **always** welcome so go ahead and tell me what you think.
> 
> There's a rebloggable [**tumblr post**](http://pororeindeer.tumblr.com/post/171763817304/time-stands-still-derekstiles-10k-words) if you're into that... also definitely come find me on there ([x](http://pororeindeer.tumblr.com)) and talk to me about sterek and hobrien!


End file.
